Samuel Winchester's Demented Inner Child
by DoomStone
Summary: Snowed in for the night at their motel, Sam and Dean decide to bond in a way they haven't done in a very, VERY long time: over hot chocolate and s'mores. But do you know what happens when Sam lets go for once and lets his own demented little inner child run rampant? He ends up saying the single most offensive thing that's ever come out of his sassy little mouth.


**AN:** Hello, faithful readers of Fanfiction! I have returned. For now. I've been really busy lately with school and life. and it's been FOREVER since I've uploaded anything. Well, I'm glad to say that that's going to change. I present to you this first fic out of a line of new and improved works I've got lined up. I've been honing my writing style and I'm happy to say it has improved greatly. So much so, in fact, that I can't stand to look at some of the stories I've uploaded. Dear GOD, what the Hell was I thinking… Anywho, I've decided to write new stories AND revamp some of my old ones. I've already fleshed out an entire storyline and written out a few chapters for a completely redesigned and repurposed Final Line, and I'll be typing those up soon. I'm also planning on taking a (much-needed) second look at The HalfBlood Assassin (As it turns out, I majorly BS'd my way through the Assassin's Creed lore, but got some of it right). Anyway, here it is! A brand-spanking-new crackfic spawned from a morbid combination of boredom and best-friend banter.

Samuel Winchester's Demented Inner Child

Cold. At the moment, that was the only feeling that Dean's sleep-deprived mind was registering. He and Sam had arrived in Chicago only a few days prior, responding to reports of a random series of ritualistic murders. Shivering lightly, Dean managed to let out a light scoff, sending forth a small, short plume of misty breath from his numb lips. Murders. They were more like total eviscerations.

In that immediate second, Dean was lying back on top of one of the motel beds, contemplating exactly what sort of mess they'd caused this time. After arriving in Chicago and making their preliminary investigations, they came to the conclusion that a pagan god was behind the killings. With this in mind, they went out looking. And find one they did.

While snooping around on the roof of the Sears Tower, they stumbled across the dwelling of the Greek goddess Khione, who wasn't particularly happy to see them. Of course, them being the infamous Winchesters, they shot first and didn't bother asking any questions until they were both disarmed and at her mercy. After trading some words (and some MAJOR sass, courtesy of Sam) they, in true Winchester style, incurred the wrath of the goddess, who was livid that they'd insulted her by assuming that she forcefully took human sacrifices, and booked it as fast as they could all the way back to the motel.

What they hadn't counted on, however, was that Khione was the Greek goddess of snow and ice. So, fast-forward to the present, Khione decided to shift the arctic winds WAY down south, putting the entire continental United States into a completely unexpected and unprecedented deep freeze. Except for Florida.

Sitting up on the bed, Dean first glared out the window at the heavily snowy weather, then directed his glare at the wall where the fake A/C dial still sat suspended on a nail. Cheap-ass friggin' motel. Taking a glance at his wristwatch, Dean leaned back and examined the motel room door. Sam had gone out in that horrid weather an hour ago to buy supplies they could use to start a fire in the room's heavily outdated standalone metal fireplace. A few seconds passed, then Dean sighed deeply, stood up, ran a hand through his short hair, and then began to rummage around the room for something with which he could satisfy his growing boredom.

20 minutes later, the lock turned in the door and in strode Sam Winchester, in all his moose-y glory, holding 4 grocery bags. Shutting the door behind him, Sam opened his mouth to greet his brother, only to be left speechless at the sight before him:

Stacked upside-down on two chairs was the room's small table, with an array of pillows and blankets (stripped from both beds) lining the table's underside in a sort of circular or spiral pattern. And sitting cross-legged in the very center of this makeshift nest was none other than Dean Winchester. As soon as Sam spotted him, Dean curled up into fetal position and froze, doing his best impression of a small deer caught in the headlights of a rapidly approaching 18-wheeler. On Dean, the facial expression was a very strange sight, more than likely resembling a heavily-contorted version of Dean's "Bluesteel".

Sam slowly, gently, closed his eyes and took a nice, deep breath. He exhaled, then asked in as calm a voice as he could muster,

"Dean, what the Hell do you think you're doing?" Dean blinked a few times, as if waking up from a stupor, then scrambled to get himself out of his creation as fast as he possibly could. His efforts, it seemed, were not in vain as he finally managed to exit the nest, albeit at the cost of a rather nasty faceplant.

"Sammy!" Dean exclaimed, standing up and quickly brushing his clothes off, "You're… back." Even though it was a statement, it came out sounding far more like a question. "Yeah," replied Sam coolly. Then, holding up the grocery bags, Sam commented, "And I bought some stuff."

"Ooooh, stuff," Dean said sarcastically, "How awesome." Sam gave Dean a deadpan stare, obviously not in the mood for Dean's attitude. Taking note of his brother's impatience, Dean sighed and suggested, "Alright, look, How about this: you go put all the stuff over there by the fireplace and then we try to light that sucker up, eh?" Sam's face noticeably brightened as he made his way over to the fireplace. He immediately replied with, "Yeah! Check this out Dean, I went and got some firewood, but I also scored some marshmallows, some chocolate, and I know these aren't Graham crackers, but it's the best I could do."

As he spoke, Sam enthusiastically pulled each item out from its bag and placed it on the floor next to the fireplace: a bag of marshmallows, 4 Hershey's bars, and a small tin can of saltine crackers. Dean cracked a smile at his younger brother's antics, then his eyes widened and his jaw dropped in disbelief as he held up one particular item from the bags that Sam oh-so-casually forgot to mention.

"Sam… Is this… Old Uncle Herbert's Hot Cocoa with Marshmallows mix?" Sam looked up at Dean with a smirk on his face. "Yep," he replied. "Jeeze, man. We haven't had this since we were kids!" Dean exclaimed, excitement clearly written all over his face. Sam could barely hold it in as well, promptly saying, "Well, what are we waiting for, then? Let's crack this thing open."

Several hours later, both were sitting on the floor in front of a rather decently sized fire. Having finished off the s'mores, the brothers decided mutually to consume copious amounts of hot chocolate, eventually spicing it with Bourbon to give it "more flavor", according to Dean. Now, Dean was fine, rest assured, because he was used to drinking hard liquor. But SAM. Sam was plastered. Giggling like a madman, Sam drunkenly motioned over to his brother. "Hey, hey Dean," he whispered. Looking up in annoyance, Dean muttered, "What?" Wearing a shit-eating grin, Sam pointed at the fire and slurred out, "Look, it's mom."

Dean froze. There was a split second of complete and total silence and stillness. Then, Dean slowly placed his cup on the floor next to him, stood up and punched his brother hard across the face, knocking him out cold. Suddenly appreciating the peace and quiet that much more, Dean sat back down, picked up his cup, and he shed a single perfect man tear of inner agony and manliness.

The End


End file.
